


Waterfall

by Stormvoël (BushRat8)



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: A peek at Barbossa's childhood, Barbossa would never pass up the opportunity for a little nookie in the water, Coconuts, F/M, Simple Pleasures, Swimming lesson, The origin of Barbossa's limp, Yeah yeah yeah there's some smut ;-), no angst for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:59:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BushRat8/pseuds/Stormvo%C3%ABl
Summary: Barbossa takes the innkeeper on an excursion to a secluded spring and waterfall on her island.  While there, he begins teaching her how to swim, and they share a drink and a snack from coconuts fresh off the tree, as well as other very pleasant things.





	Waterfall

**Author's Note:**

> Although it would be considered the height of stupidity now, many sailors of the period didn't know how to swim, and they were adamant about not learning to do so. Their reasoning was that, should they be drowning, death would come faster and with less suffering if they simply "took their drink of the sea," being unable to fight against it. However, Barbossa has an exceptionally strong survival instinct, and in any case, he grew up around water, learning to swim as a child. Having lived through decades at sea and been tossed into the drink on more than one occasion, he's an even stronger swimmer now (I daresay he could pass a modern-day lifesaver's test).
> 
> I was listening to Alice Cooper's "Poison" all the time I was writing the smutty section ;-)

 

 

  
  
-oOo-

 

 

 

 

"Seems t' me ye're more'n a mite housebound, darlin',"  Barbossa says.  "How often d' ye get t' leave th' inn?"  
  
The innkeeper shrugs and shakes her head.  "Not often.  There's the marketing and all the errands, of course, but I don't have much time for anything else."  
  
"Ah:  nonsense!"  Barbossa rubs the backs of his fingers against her cheek.  "Ye're not busy now — last count, I seen no more'n two lodgers — so ye'll be comin' wi' me on th' morrow once breakfast be finished."  
  
"I have to clean and make dinner…"  
  
"Let th' wench Cora earn her keep an' do it.  Hear me?"  
  
"What if other people come or something goes wrong…?"  
  
"What if, what if!"  Barbossa rolls his eyes, smiles, then bows his head to give her a soft kiss on the forehead.  "No 'what if';  ye're comin' wi' me, an' that be final."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-oOo-  
-oOo-

 

 

  
  
The freshwater cove Barbossa's discovered is one that the innkeeper has never visited — not in her whole life on the island — and she presses her hands to her face, flushing pink, as she watches him run toward the spring, stripping off his clothes as he goes until he's down to his shirt;  then, after taking a flying, skittering dive into the water, that comes off, too.  "Come on in, th' water be fine!"  he calls once he comes up for air.  
  
The innkeeper takes a step backward.  "I can't."  
  
"Why not, Dove?  There bain't anyone here t' see us."  
  
"It's not that."  
  
"What, sweet?  What troubles ye?  D' ye not wish me t' see ye?"  
  
"It's not that,"  the innkeeper says again, and now her blush is one of embarrassment rather than excitement.  "Hector, I can't swim!"  
  
Barbossa hadn't thought of that.  "Truly?  Have ye ne'er gone for a swim a day in yer life?"  
  
"No."  
  
There's an obvious answer for that which will make the day even more pleasant than he intended.  "Will ye let me teach ye, then?  Don't be afeared;  I'll let naught happen t' ye."  He swims closer, then tosses his shirt to the innkeeper, who wrings it out and lays it over a bush to dry.  "Come, Dove.  Off with yer gown, an' come on in."  
  
"What if someone happens by and sees us?"  
  
Barbossa laughs at her.  "Enough wi' th' excuses.  I ne'er seen a soul around here — if I'm hearin' aright, there's those what think this place be haunted — but no matter what, I'll protect ye 'gainst any ghosts or peepers.  Now take yer dress off, lest ye wanna be flounderin' in a sodden mess of cloth like sails on a fallen mast."  He watches the innkeeper pull her smock over her head, then put trembling fingers to the front of her gown, managing a hook or two, but too shaky to unfasten the others.  "Oh, come on now, ye're not _that_ frightened!"  Barbossa scrambles onto the bank and stands before her, naked and dripping.  "Let me do that…"  
  
She stands still, biting her lip, as he slowly relieves her of her shoes and stockings and outer clothes ("You're enjoying this far too much, Hector."  "Ohhh, aye, that be true!") until she's down to just her short-sleeved summer chemise.  "Ain't ne'er seen this one b'fore,"  Barbossa comments, drawing a fingertip along its thigh-length hem.  "Bit short, no?"  
  
The innkeeper is worried that he should chide her over what she's wearing;  does he think it makes her look like a paid woman?  "The weather's hot, and besides, it used to be longer,"  she answers defensively,  "but I had to cut it off because the bottom was worn out."  
  
But,  "Weren't criticizin' a bit, Dove.  Just…"  Barbossa's fingers hover dangerously high up under her linen shift as he licks his lips, the remembered taste of her sweet and rich on his tongue.  He could get to his knees right now to sate his hunger for her… but he won't.  That will be for later.  "I just ne'er seen ye dressed in so little afore this,"  he says, taking his hand away.  
  
The innkeeper smiles, wishing he'd put it back.  "Don't be silly, Hector:  you've seen me dressed in nothing at all."  
  
"Not th' same.  'Cept for th' sleeves, it looks like ye're wearin' me shirt.  I like it."  
  
Barbossa's soft, admiring talk takes some of the nervousness out of the innkeeper.  "Is it hard, to swim?"  she asks.  
  
"Come in th' water an' find out.  Come on:  I'll go in first, an' help you in, bit by bit…"  
  
The innkeeper takes his hand and lets him help her to step down off the rocks until her feet are in the water.  "Cold!"  
  
"Only for a moment, darlin'.  Only for a moment.  Now, come further… further…"  
  
She's just over her knees when Barbossa suddenly grasps her around the waist and hauls her the rest of the way in, her short chemise drifting up over her rump to expose everything.  "Bloody hell, Hector…!!"  she screeches at the laughing man.  
  
He holds onto her, cackling.  "Ah, you don't mean a word of it.  Feels good, aye?  Cold an' warm, all at once."  
  
"There's nothing one damn bit warm about this water…!"  
  
"Weren't talkin' 'bout the water, Dove.  Now quit fussin', else I'll let go of ye."  
  
"Don't you dare…!"  The innkeeper's clinging to him, afraid she'll drown without his arms around her.  
  
Though he continues to laugh, Barbossa does feel how frightened she is and holds fast to her, his low, rough purring keeping her from completely losing her wits.  "There now, sweet.  There now.  Just get used t' bein' in th' water wi' me, an' then I'll give ye yer first swimmin' lesson.  Hold on, now, while I carry you a-ways in."  He wades slowly into a deeper part of the spring, helping the innkeeper to float while not letting her feet touch down;  steps off the shallow end so that he's treading water while holding them both.  "That's it,"  he whispers.  "Now, 'tis the first thing t' learn:  t' relax an' let th' water hold ye up, so I'll be takin' one arm away…"  
  
"Oh don't, please don't!"  
  
"Shh shh shh.  'Tis only one arm, an' I'm still here."  Slowly, Barbossa removes the arm he's slipped under the innkeeper's knees, though he continues to lightly support her back.  "If ye feel like ye're sinkin' a bit, then kick yer feet up… whoa:  gently!  Gently…"  
  
He thinks back to when he learned to swim;  when he couldn't have been more than eight or nine.  There was water everywhere around his house, fresh, brackish, and salt — water he loved to play in — and his mother and sisters were terrified that he'd drown.  And he almost did one day, sprawling down a slippery embankment into a pond too deep for him to find his footing;  thrashing around, panicked, for a terrifyingly long moment before his innate courage kicked in.  
  
In spite of the water in his eyes and ears and all the spluttering and coughing up of the water he'd swallowed, little Hector quickly got hold of himself, mustered his nerve, then reflexively paddled and kicked his way to shore.  He really wasn't quite sure how he'd done it, and his large family of women wailed over him when he came home muddy and soaking wet, but he tried going into the water again as soon as he was able;  this time, intentionally.  There was no one to teach him, but he had an affinity for the water, and within a week, he was swimming easily.  It had only got easier ever since.  
  
"That's it.  Relax, ye're doin' fine,"  he tells the innkeeper, smiling down at her.  "Now, ye trust me, don't ye?"  She nods, a little too quickly.  "Say it:  ye trust me.  Go on."  
  
"I trust you, Hector."  
  
_Ye might be th' only one in all th' world what does.  Might be th' only one in all th' world what has proper reason to._   "Good, Dove.  Now, I'm gonna turn ye, slow-like, 'til ye're on yer belly.  Don't be afeared;  won't nothin' happen t' hurt ye…"  Slowly, very slowly, Barbossa turns the innkeeper in the water so she's on her stomach, clutching his upper arms, his hands below her keeping her steady and her head up.  "I want ye t' kick now, just a little.  Just enough t' push toward me.  That's it!  See, now, ye're swimmin'…!"  He guides her in circles a few times before deciding to move further out toward the center, in the direction of the waterfall.  "Keep kickin', but let go me arms,"  he tells her.  "Don't worry, I'll hold yer hands.  Just let go…"  
  
It's a little too much for the innkeeper just yet;  she holds even tighter to him, and Barbossa nods, beaten for now.  " 'S all right,"  he says, taking her firmly back in his arms and pulling her to the waterfall, where he helps her out of the spring so they might sit on the rocks.  "Not bad for yer first time, eh?"  
  
"Scary!"  
  
"I know.  Were scary me own first time in th' water — I fell headfirst down th' bank an' _-splash!-_ — but I got o'er it.  Don't scare me one bit anymore."  
  
The innkeeper curls up beside him.  "You're braver than I am."  
  
_An' am I, at that?_   Barbossa wonders.  _A woman makin' her way alone in th' world, an' wi' half this town bein' so ugly t' you 'cause of me… I'd say that were plenty brave enough._   Then he rethinks it.  _Nay, not alone, m' darlin'.  Ne'er alone, not anymore, not wi' me._   "Nay, Dove, I just been swimmin' longer'n you."  
  
They sit on the ledge behind the cascade, arms around each other to keep warm, when suddenly, Barbossa spots first one coconut, then another, falling from a tree on the far bank, rolling to a stop before they can disappear into the water.  "Ha, look at that:  lunch!"  he laughs.  "Come wi' me an' I'll fetch 'em."  
  
He sidestrokes to the opposite side, towing the innkeeper along with him, and finding, once he gets there, that one coconut is green;  the best one, he knows, for the tastiest water.  "Ye've had th' juice of a coconut, have ye not?"  
  
"Sometimes Gran would bring one to the inn."  
  
Barbossa pries the hairy fruit out of its husk, then whacks the top off with his knife.  "Drink up,"  he tells her.  "'Twill slake yer thirst in a most satisfyin' way.  Th' meat of this one's got no taste, but there be other uses for it."  
  
They hand the coconut back and forth, each taking sips until the liquid is gone;  then Barbossa turns his attention to the brown coconut, husking it, then pounding it on a rock so that it breaks apart, exposing the firm white meat.  "I learned long ago that few things be a better friend t' a sailor than a coconut, whether it be ripe or not,"  he comments as they're eating pieces of it.  "'Tis good t' eat an' drink, for certain, but th' soft meat of th' green 'twill also soothe a skin sore burned by th' sun, an' the hairy brown shell does in a pinch for scrapin' th' ship's woodwork."  He grins.  "Lobbed more'n a few at an enemy an' knocked 'em out!"  
  
The pair of them drowse for awhile after that;  then Barbossa pats the innkeeper's hip.  "Time for yer second lesson,"  he announces,  "an' this time, I won't take no fuss.  Ye'll be brave, as befits me woman."  
  
Put that way, the innkeeper determines to do whatever he tells her.  But first,  "Am I?"  
  
"Are ye what?"  
  
"Your…"  She blushes to say it.  "Your woman?"  
  
_For now an' always._   "Aye, darlin'.  'Tis Hector an' his sweet Dove, an' all have seen it."  Another pat, followed by an impudent pinch.  "Now no more stallin'!  In ye go…"  
  
Barbossa goes into the spring first;  watches the innkeeper walk around the edge to sit on the rocks with her feet in the water before he swims up, grasps her around the waist, and lifts her in.  "Oh, quit yer shiverin';  it bain't that cold."  
  
"I beg to differ, sir."  Giggling, she puts a hand between Barbossa's legs to find everything drawn up and shriveled against the chill.  "This fellow seems to think it's very cold."  
  
"P'raps, but only 'cause there ain't a warmer place t' hole up in.  Well, unless ye're volunteerin' one."  
  
"Hector!  I can't, not in the water;  it's too deep."  
  
If the water's cold, Barbossa's suddenly not feeling it — not with the innkeeper's body clutched close to his — and anything shriveled is quickly returning to normal size and then some.  "Only thing deep be where I'm goin'…"  
  
"I'll drown!"  
  
"Ye won't.  Now shut up an' give us a kiss…"  
  
It's awkward, and it's also a first for Barbossa, but he's game to try any new way he could possibly experience pleasure with his woman.  "Hold on t' me, hold on, I'll keep yer head 'bove th' water!"  he gasps, groaning at the sudden heat around him that makes the spring seem so much colder………

 

  
  
  
-oOo- 0-0-0 -oOo-  

 

  
  
  
From under lowered lashes, the innkeeper watches the expression on Barbossa's face as he makes love to her there in the water, careful to hold her safely above the surface;  feels the short, sharp heave of his chest.  The look is the same as it is in the dark, or in candlelight, but to see it in the brightness of day is especially exciting.  
  
He chews on his lower lip, because if he doesn't, it will start quivering.  Warmed by the flush of passion, Barbossa's weatherbeaten face looks soft and young to the innkeeper's eyes, like a child given a much-coveted sweetmeat who finds it ten times more wonderful than he could have imagined, the tip of his tongue flicking out quickly to make sure he leaves none of that sweetness behind.    
  
"Hector!  Oh, Hector…"  
  
The sound of his name in the innkeeper's mouth starts Barbossa to whimpering, and he cannot stop;  won't stop until that whimper becomes a moan, then a scream, then a sweet, agonized wailing, but not yet, not yet.  Those men who know him would never believe him capable of restraint, not grasping as fast as he can for the moment of his ultimate pleasure, but he is, because he wants it to last;  because when he allows it to take him over, he wants to feel it tearing him apart, relieving the pressure between his legs, making him go weak and blind, and rendering him speechless save for the few words of adoration he manages to murmur in the innkeeper's ear.  
  
"Oh God, Hector, harder…!"  
  
Barbossa is shuddering and gasping, but it isn't the cold of the water;  it isn't any sort of cold at all.  The thought flits through his mind that during his life, he's had a hundred, a thousand chances to feel like this, but how could he, when the love wasn't there?  "Hold on t' me, sweet… hold on tight…"  
  
" _Please,_ Hector, harder…!"  
  
The innkeeper's starting to cry, like she always does when she get really ratcheted up.  "Christ, I love t' hear ye beg fer it!"  Barbossa lifts her and lets her fall, again and again, until all at once, the innkeeper cries out;  she's shaking, her fingers dug so hard into his back that it's going to leave bruises.  He wants to ask if it feels good, what just happened, but what an astoundingly stupid question that would be when he damn well knows it does.  
  
He, too, has been watching the look on her face:  her dark, glittering eyes and the deep red flush on her cheeks.  
  
His own climax is about six, maybe eight, strokes away, and that wail is starting up out of his throat.  He's a noisy one, is Barbossa — always has been — and his raspy cries reverberate around the stone walls surrounding the spring, higher and more desperate, until he presses the last one into the innkeeper's mouth, kissing her deeply, intent on having her share the sound of his final bliss……

 

  
  
-oOo- 0-0-0 -oOo-    
  
 

 

  
  
Breathless, Barbossa goes weak and starts to sink, taking the innkeeper with him, but her choking, frightened cry brings him back to his senses.  "Don't panic!"  he orders sharply, scissoring upward and pulling her toward the waterfall again.  "Don't panic, darlin', ye're safe."  He helps her up onto the rocks.  "Ye're safe, see?"  
  
Once the innkeeper calms and realizes she was never in any danger of drowning, Barbossa discovers that their lovemaking has relaxed her and she's less fearful;   that, when they get back in the water, he can now lead her by the hands while she kicks to propel herself along.  "There ye go, Dove!  Look:  ye're swimmin' like ye been doin' it all yer life!  I'm so proud of ye…"  
  
They spend the next hour or so at the spring, both swimming and smooching, then get dressed for the walk home.  "Here ye go,"  Barbossa says, gently laying his grey coat over the innkeeper's shoulders to keep her warm against the dampness of the chemise that's soaked through her dress.  
  
When the _Black Pearl_ comes into port on business as well as recreation, as she has on this occasion, Barbossa must of necessity be elsewhere much of the time, leaving the innkeeper to wish he'd stay home so she could have him all to herself.  It's a rare time she can, and this day's been a blessing.  "Thank you for today, Hector,"  she says, going up on tip-toe to kiss his hairy cheek, then pressing against him, her arms around his waist.  "Thank you for everything about it… and for teaching me about swimming.  I don't know how I could have gone all this time and just… I never knew…"  
  
"Well, we'll come back again afore I have t' leave, eh?  I'll make sure ye know how t' swim by yerself, should ye want to.  And I'll… we'll…"  He wiggles his eyebrows to let her know it's not just a swimming lesson he offers.  
  
"Promise?"  
  
Barbossa promises nothing to anyone if his life's not in the balance.  Never.  Well, almost never, because this promise feels different.  With the innkeeper, promises always feel different.  They feel warm and comforting and intimate;  a way to share his feelings without saying things he's afraid to.  "Aye, I promise,"  he says softly.  "Ye have m' solemn word on it, Dove."

 

 

  
  
-oOo-  
-oOo-

 

 

  
  
Once they return to the inn, Cora eyes the two of them, open-mouthed.  "You're all wet,"  she says with a crooked grin.  "You fall in a puddle somewhere?"  
  
"I taught yer mistress how t' swim t'day,"  Barbossa announces.  
  
Cora looks horrified.  "Ye mean… you went in th' water without _fallin'_ in?"  
  
"Aye."  Barbossa's trying not to laugh.  "What is it wi' th' women on this isle that water scares 'em so?  Ye should try it some time."  
  
"Lord's sakes, no!  There's _things_ in th' water!"  
  
Barbossa's perfectly well aware of that — he's come out of more than his share of muddy pools to find that leeches were making a meal of him, once had his feet bit by sharp-toothed fish before he could snatch them back out of a river, and then there was the blasted shark that bit a hunk out of his leg and gave him his limp — but this spring is clear and clean and a beautiful blue, its cascade sweet and good for drinking.  "Heh,"  he snickers.  "Worst thing in th' water be _me_ , missy, so I bain't worryin' 'bout a critter or two.  Now, if ye don't mind, some dry clothes for yer mistress be right in order, so I'm takin' her upstairs.  She'll be down dreck'ly t' cook supper."  
  
Cora watches them mount the stairs and disappear into the upper level of the house.  "Cap'n Crazy, that's what you are,"  she snorts, shaking her head,  "an' the missus be twice as crazy t' be with you."  It's what she's thought ever since the night she first saw him and realized that the lady of the house was helplessly, hopelessly in love with the dirty, tired man who'd appeared at midnight out of nowhere.  
  
_Cap'n Crazy_ ,  she thinks again.    
  
Most of the time,  Barbossa annoys her:  he's bossy, ordering her to do her work — actually do it — when it doesn't seem like the innkeeper really much cares if she does it or not.  If the mistress of the house doesn't care, why should he?  Instead of issuing orders, let him spend his time doing what he's really most interested in:  wallowing in bed with the innkeeper, and if not in bed, then in every other corner of the house.  Cora's wondering if a new bathing tub will suddenly arrive;  one big enough for the two of them.  She'd think it funny except that if it does, she'll be hauling six times the water to fill it.  
  
_Cap'n Crazy_ ,  she sulks.  _Cap'n Crazy an' his missus._  
  
Then the sulk turns into a wistful sigh as she wonders what's going on upstairs;  something she doesn't have to wonder about too hard.  Cora may grouse and she may fuss, but she's seen the serene content on Barbossa's face too many times, as well as the happiness on the innkeeper's, and what she really thinks is,  _Cap'n Crazy he may be, but bein' honest, I'd like t' have a man what's that crazy 'bout me._  
  
  
 

 

 

  
-oOo-  FIN  -oOo-


End file.
